


i'll chase you all the way to the stairway, honey

by roseisreturning



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Erotomania, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 03:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18563206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseisreturning/pseuds/roseisreturning
Summary: Empathy makes for botched jobs and a sparse wardrobe. Villanelle is interested in neither. (Sometimes, she cannot distinguish between herself and Eve.)





	i'll chase you all the way to the stairway, honey

**Author's Note:**

> Just something quick and unedited for my first time writing for this show, because the lipstick scene was... a lot for me.

Villanelle has been toying with empathy as of late. She is, by most accounts (and there have been many), almost certainly incapable of it, which is fortunate, given her preferred lifestyle. Empathy would make for botched jobs and a sparse wardrobe. She is interested in neither. Villanelle has never been inclined toward pursuing failure, so she prefers not to bother. Still, there is a certain advantage to knowing how another feels. Knowing it so deeply that you can feel it yourself. So deeply that there’s hardly a difference between the two. Presumably, anyway. Villanelle has been toying with empathy as of late, but she has yet to experience it. Mostly, she thinks of what she wants with it.

She wants the rush back. The warmth of blood is nothing new. The warmth of breath. The nearness just before the first comes and the second goes. It’s routine. Eve is still learning; she doesn’t even bother to do it in an interesting way. Villanelle has forgotten how this feels. There was an exhilaration, once, in the doing itself, before it got boring. It was love, or something better.

This time, it’s Villanelle’s blood and nobody’s breath. Maybe it catches in a throat, once or twice, but it never stops, just turns shallow and quick. Eve did this. That’s love.

And she has it. Eve, sharp and trembling, has drawn it out of her like the blade she should have left there. And Villanelle is glad for it. She’s drawn something from her, too, and Eve will know it soon and be glad for it, too.

Villanelle has been toying with a reversal of roles. It’s near enough to empathy, if closer to a game. She wants to catch her. Catching is easy and boring and usually to some degree outside of Villanelle’s responsibilities. Eve is trying to be easy and boring and keep to her responsibilities. She’s doing a terrible job of it. So Villanelle catches her. This is a favor that Eve will have to repay.

The dress, the perfume, the knife to her throat—taken back. This is the favor Eve thinks she’s been done. Villanelle could take the lipstick back, too, but that wouldn’t be any use. Eve has been toying with a reversal of roles, too. Villanelle is certain. She has to remember what it means to be caught.

Villanelle awaits the sight she know will come: Eve’s mouth split open in that clean, unmistakable way. Villanelle’s dreamt of how this would look, how it would feel. The wound will scream like she did that afternoon, desperate and ashamed, confirming what needs no confirmation.

Eve Polastri is in love with her. Villanelle knows just how it feels.


End file.
